Rough Canvas Read Online Free PDF Page B

were gutless when you walked away from me. I didn’t think you’d resort to being that stupid redneck kid again as well.”
    Thomas’ spine snapped straight, his chin jutting out like his brother’s. “Now you’re trying to start a fight.”
    “If it makes you remember the will to have one, gladly.” Marcus nodded once.
    Coldly.
    “This is who I am. Where I’m staying.”
    “Is it what you want?”
    “It doesn’t always get to be about what you want,” Thomas said between clenched teeth. “Life sometimes is making the best of what you’re given.”
    Marcus considered him. The breeze moved his hair on his shoulders, a strand
    brushing his firmly held lips. “Fine, then. Ignore your feelings about me, bury them. Try to destroy them by throwing asinine insults at me, but do the work, send it to me. I’ll sell them at the contracted price, send you the money and it will supplement your income to keep your family going.
    “If nothing else, I’m still the gallery owner who has the connections to get your work noticed, Thomas. Your talent is phenomenal. You’ve only scratched the surface of it. No matter what you think about me, people don’t spend thousands of dollars on a piece of artwork from someone whose name they don’t even know, unless the talent is so remarkable they don’t care whether it’s a brand name or not.”
    “Stop.” Thomas shook his head. “You know I can’t handle that kind of shit. I
    can’t…I haven’t thought about…”
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    Rough Canvas
    As Marcus’ eyes narrowed, Thomas felt the gnawing teeth start up on his gut, as vicious as the blades of the chipper.
    For months, the ideas had been elusive, formless, ruthlessly kicked into a hole in his subconscious like a swamp filled with sucking mud.
    Because of that, he couldn’t allow himself to accept what Marcus was saying.
    Couldn’t even enjoy the vision for a moment, though a greedy part of him wanted to bask in the idea of achieving success as an artist. Instead, Thomas almost felt sick. When he moved his hand to knead his stomach, he forced himself to stop as Marcus’ sharp attention went to it.
    It wasn’t Marcus’ fault. He knew that. He’d always known that. It just wasn’t meant to be. Thomas took a deep breath, let it flow out of him, let the anger go. “You know your business, you always have. When you say things like that…it scares the hell out of me. It also…there’s a part of me that’s just fucking amazed by it.”
    A light smile crossed Marcus’ face, but didn’t reach his eyes. “You deserve to let all of you be amazed by it. Not just a part.”
    “It’s not there anymore.” Thomas forced the words past stiff lips. “I need the
    money, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Everything’s insecticide, feed, and ‘what size couplings do you need for your plumbing’?” He gave a half laugh at Marcus’
    raised brow.
    “I’m sure I don’t want you to explain what a coupling is to me.”
    Thomas shook his head, reached out a hand. It felt as if it weighed three times what Kate did. “Thanks for dropping off the check. I’m sorry for how I acted. You…you didn’t do anything. It was all me. I took it out on you. You just surprised me, is all.
    Wasn’t ready to see you here.”
    “I don’t exactly fit in this painting, do I?” Marcus looked around, still not taking the hand, though Thomas kept it out stubbornly.
    “No, you don’t.”
    When Marcus clasped it at last, Thomas tried not to show how the contact rippled through him, ached in his bones as if he’d been gripped by the flu. Already the sandwich he’d packed to have at noontime was something he knew he wouldn’t be
    eating.
    “Give me a week.”
    “What?”
    “You’ve been here eighteen months, working six or seven days a week with no time off, no breathing room at all. I think they can cover for you a week, particularly if it means they can add a significant source of income to the annual budget. I’ve got a friend’s